


Without You

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Anyhow this one is PWP elements blended with a bit of character study, M/M, experimental fic from someone who mostly writes Sam/Gene, or OT3, or gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 11:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: Even Ray Carling is capable of some reflection.





	Without You

**Author's Note:**

> This is old fic, and also an experiment. I wanted to see if I could write Ray/Chris and make them sound, at least a little bit, like themselves. This is what I came up with.
> 
> Not betaed, though it's been pre-read by a few different, lovely folks. Oh, and it's ollllllldddddd, as I said above. I'm a big fan of writing stuff and then never posting, huh.

He presses his face into the pillow, hiding away, stifling his moans, the ones he can't help but make. Because it's him wanting, and needing, and giving into it, the heat of being filled, the helplessness of being taken, of letting being owned. The bloke he's with wouldn't put it like that – he's too daft, too soft – but _he_ at least knows what it means, what can never be said.

He tightens one fist in the sheets, biting hard at his lip and throwing his head back as he pushes back into the dizzying heat. 'That alright?' Chris murmurs, voice thick and rough, his whole body juddering as he moves and pumps and grinds, and God, Ray feels it everywhere. 'Come on, _Ray_ – '

'Shut up, shut up,' Ray gasps, wants to lose himself in the moment, because it's not like he needs to be reminded who he's doing with this, the ins and outs of what they're actually doing. Cause he's a man and Chris – a div, maybe, sometimes daft as a brick, almost always as sweet as they come – is a man, too, long and hard and lean. 'Just fuck me, get it over with.'

The bed creaks and Chris gives a little sigh, pumping harder, yanking Ray back into it, a little more taking, a little more helplessness. Not shutting up, no, he just keeps saying Ray's name, praising him for being so hot, so tight, for taking it, for letting Chris give it to him. Ah, shit. Ray really does just want him to shut up, but he's been reduced to breathless gasps and needy moans, and he can't string two words together to save his life. Because it's Chris's voice, on top of everything else, that traps Ray in the moment, nails him in place. Nails him, just like Chris is doing, his fingers blunt-edged and hard where they scrabble for purchase at Ray's hips, his dick burning hot where it pushes back into him, fills him up. There's that little hitch in Chris's breath that means he's close now, so close, and as a few rougher little puffs of breath follow, Ray thumps the pillow with one fist, asking for it harder, faster, rougher, _now_ , though he's still not got the words.

'Ray – '

Ray gives the pillow another thump, ready to beat the stuffing out of it, reaches up to grab himself with the other, cause he's not come yet and he likes to get himself off when Chris is this close. He jerks himself off, all erratically, because Chris is still moving so powerfully inside him – he's not rhythm's gone all off. 'Shit, shit, shit,' Ray gasps into the pillow, squeezing himself, pulling himself, and the pressure keeps building until he knows he's ready to burst, from his toes up, tightest and at its most intense behind his balls. Chris spills in him with a ragged cry, and Ray loves it, loves the soft wet sensation of it, full already and now he's brimming. Knows he should hate it, how unnatural it all is, but in the wet warm afterglow of it all, he doesn't give a damn.

Chris groans as he pulls out, rolls over onto his side. Ray stays where he's at, thighs burning, still with his face pressed to the pillow, on his hands and knees, lets the wet heat run down his legs.

'You ever gonna move?' Chris asks, breathless-soft as he chuckles. Ray shakes his head, can't bring himself to speak. 'Well, you do whatever you like. I'll go put the kettle on, see what there is to eat.' The whole bed shifts as he moves, and Ray listens to Chris puttering about putting himself back together. When Chris's footsteps have gone out the bedroom, Ray rolls onto his side, twinges of pleasure-pain still burning him up from the inside out. Jesus. Just, Jesus. If he had to say something, he'd still be at a loss. And now he doesn't even know what to think.

He takes a few deep breaths, blows them out, heart pounding his his chest, eyes stuck to the plastered ceiling so far above his head. Running his hands back through his hair doesn't help any, not that he really thought it would. He's lost himself, but it only ever comes to him when the afterglow's started to fade, when he's going cold all along the edges. He shouldn't want this. He bloody well shouldn't need it. But he does, and he _does_ , and he hasn't got the heart to put an end to it.

He imagines the look on Chris's face, wide-eyed and broken hearted, and he can't, he _can't_ , he's not that big a bastard, he doesn't think that he's a monster.

He sits up, at least when he's able to, when his heart's stopped doing the tango and maybe he's got a grip on himself, finally. Only that's a bloody lie, he's so, so, far away from himself, now, from the man he's supposed to be and the one who sneaks about, shagging his best mate, letting the other man pound him into the mattress whenever the mood takes them both; cause that's the way they both prefer it, Chris buried in him, Ray moaning helplessly in his need. But it's not as complicated as all that, really, it's just shagging, just sex, just two blokes who see only the worst of the world, letting off a bit of steam. 

Only that's not Chris though, is it? He's daft at times, naive's the right word, but he only ever wants to do the right thing, get a pat on the back for a job well done. And Ray, well, he's close to given up now, he'll never kick Tyler from the place he's taken up residence, perched so close to the Guv, loud-mouthed and opinionated, self-righteous and obnoxious, with a stick shoved so far up his arse it's a miracle it's not come out the other end. Hell – Ray rubs a hand across his face, the one that's not a sticky mess, then he wipes that one off against the musky sheets. Just what he needs, to think about _him_ , the bastard who swanned on into his world and took away the thing that mattered most.

Ray's heart twinges, like after he's been running too fast, or fucking too hard, or told such a blatant lie that the morals he does have left, have to rear their ugly heads. He'd have been living the high life indeed, being the Guv's DI. But that's not really what's most important to him, when he digs deep enough down, scrapes all the bitter shit aside and sweeps himself clean.

Tyler's also the bastard who, more likely than not, gave Chris the pep talk he needed to get any of this started, because Ray had been terrified of what he was thinking, feeling, what he _wanted_ – still is, actually. Cause that's what the Boss does, isn't it? Talks too much because he likes to think he knows everything, and he just has to share his wisdom with the world. But if it hadn't been for him, for giving Chris that right nudge, well –

He hates having to feel any sort of gratefulness towards the prick, because the things he's done wrong makes for a longer list than the ones he's done right; even if he doesn't know, for sure, though he's sure he never will. It knocks the world right out from beneath his feet, knowing Tyler might have played such an integral part in Chris getting his act together and making this _happen_. Still does from time to time.

Like, right in this moment, endless free-fall. So, it's a good thing Ray's still sitting down.

There's the sound of footsteps coming close, and Ray lifts his head up to stare at Chris, who's leaned into the door-jamb with his arms folded loose across his chest. There's a pretty flush on his skin, his shirt's not buttoned up all the way. 'Tea's ready, so's the food. Found some bread that hadn't gone off.' He smiles, wide and goofy and carefree, that pink on his cheeks and a bit dopey-eyed. He gets like that after a shag, all full of affection, practically humming, he's just that bloody pleased. And Ray, he thinks too much, doesn't speak enough by far, exploring the ins and outs of all he's done, and not done, to get himself into this mess.

'Look at you, you lazy arse. We're gonna be late now, you need to get dressed.' The smile fades, Chris takes it all so seriously. 'Come on, shift it, Ray. The Guv's been in a mood.'

Ray sighs, it's only the bloody truth. 'Only cause Tyler's an obstinate twat.' But he's up now, and Chris has pushed away from the door, gone away down the hall. Ray moves on into the bathroom, rinses off quickly – 

When Chris looks at him like that, Ray's not stupid, he's not blind. It's shining just as clear as crystal, and Chris can't know what he's doing, just how he's been looking at him. Love – that's what it is – not the sort you have for a friend, no, but Ray knows that's the base of it. They spend endless hours taking the piss out of each other, talking about birds; and he isn't dating Chris, never could, so they compare notes when they have a successful night. Crashing at Ray's flat, because it's easier. Kissing Chris, when he still has the stink of some bird's perfume on his shirt...

Ray's afraid of if, the truth of it, in ways he's never been before, the stone-cold certainty of what it would mean. Absolutely bloody terrified. He can be a bit of a prick, after all, and he doesn't see how this could ever last – not just because they're coppers, though that's a big part of it. It's not right, for all Chris makes it seem like the most natural thing in the world. Chris is the one who worked up the nerve to kiss him, and they hadn't even been pissed out of their minds. There's also the part where they're blokes, and the Chief Super's none too fond of poofters. Ray likes his job, maybe he's not where he'd liked to be, career-wise, and the longer Tyler sticks around, the more Ray knows, he'll never be the Guv's right-hand man. Hardly even feels like they're mates still, half the time. The Guv used to confide in him, but now –

Ray has to scrub those thoughts from his mind, before they blind him to the things that matter more. Chris deserves better than him, a good wife with nice tits, and half a dozen or so bouncing babies. Maybe some kisses, too, slow deep snogging. Not just fucking, raw and frantic – only happens every now and again, them getting to do it in a bed. A long lunch, a bit of afternoon delight. Helped let out a lot of the tension that had been building, this last week, this string of bad cases. And he can't even blame Tyler for all the bad things gone wrong in his life, cause he's the one who got the Guv to agree to _that_ suggestion of his, that they all needed a bit of a break.

And the Guv could bitch about it if he wanted too, call Ray a useless toe-rag, and Ray respects him, and fears him some, too, but he'd still have to call him out on that cause sometimes he's sure that the only reason Tyler got his job is because he's got lips made for sucking cock, not that he just stumbled into the station at the right time, on the right day. So, this time he gets with Chris, it's his – and he wants to think, he wouldn't let the Guv take it from him, even if he tried. Even if the whole of the station turned against the both of them.

Even if – 

It fills him with something cold, and sick, and heavy. Well, he's really not sure. He doesn't want to figure out what that _even if_ could be.

Mostly, when he thinks of the life he could have with Chris, he thinks of all the things he _won't_ be able to give him, even if he tried and tried and tried. And he wants to, that's the thing. Wants to be all that Chris wants, and needs, and deserves, that last bit in particular, because he knows he can be a bastard prick and the job is hard, it rips you apart, so where's the harm in taking it easy? Maybe it's him spending too much time around the Guv, walking in his footsteps. Maybe he's just a bloke of the times. But he thinks, sometimes – outright fantasises about it, hearts and bloody rainbows – about holding Chris's hand in his own, taking a jolly stroll down the high street. Going up on top of the station and shouting it to the whole of the city, how bloody good Chris makes him feel.

Just how much he lo –

Scary, yeah. Bloody fucking terrifying.

But all they get is a quickie, here and there, and sometimes, yeah, a good, harder, longer fuck. The Boss goes on, sometimes – not because of anything in particular, maybe there's just been one of those 'hate crimes' of his, which gets him riled up, no sense and all passion – that it'll be better, one of these days. Maybe not perfect, but better.

Better sounds nice.

He stares at himself in the mirror, runs a hand back through his hair. Losing himself in his thoughts had helped with the automatic process of getting dressed. He twitches his moustache at himself, smirks, finishes doing up his tie. He looks good. He feels better than he has in days.

'Oi, come on, Ray – get a move on! We're already late.'

Chris is right – duty calls, and all that shit. Ray straightens his jacket, adjusts his tie one last time. One of these days, Chris will come to his senses. Or maybe it'll be Ray. Chris will see there's something better for him, at the other end of the rainbow. And Ray, finally, will get what he's been working for, all these years, what _he_ really deserves.

'Yeah, yeah, hold your ruddy horses. I'll be right there.'


End file.
